


If I’d Have Known...

by UniverseMarvel



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Friendship, Bruce Banner Is a Good Bro, Bruce Banner Needs a Hug, Father-Son Relationship, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Irondad, Ouch, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Poisoning, Poor Peter Parker, Poor Tony Stark, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Sickfic, Sorry Not Sorry, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, spiderson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:42:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29757021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UniverseMarvel/pseuds/UniverseMarvel
Summary: ...Then We Wouldn’t Be Here. An IronDad sickfic. Everything you hate loving and love hating.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 48





	1. Not the happy part

**Author's Note:**

> WandaVision was Friday so of course you have time for this!

* * *

* * *

Tony glanced at the clock; Peter would arrive any minute from school; apparently he was riding with Happy and not swinging — he would have been here over an hour ago if that were the case, although he hadn’t received any texts from the kid today. Maybe Happy was in a more talkative mood than normal and keeping Peter occupied for once.

He finished a few small projects, saving the more complicated ones for when Peter for here (the “cooler ones,” as Peter called them).

He’s just finished another one when he gets he feeling he’s hungry- the feeling surprises him, and he looks at the clock again. He laughs to himself; this is normally the time Peter’s ready for his first snack of the afternoon, and apparently Tony’s stomach has picked up on the schedule. Which reminds him.

Where is that kid?

He looks at his texts with Peter, the last few all from Tony; one reminding Peter about today, one wishing him luck on his Spanish quiz (Tony hoped it was in Spanish because that’s the class he had written in the text), and one asking Peter what he wanted for lunch. The last one had been more of a test to see if the kid would respond, as their Peter-to-Tony text ratios were extremely off kilter of their normal, strongly in Tony’s favor today.

He opens Happy’s contact instead.

“Where are you?”

He asks, receiving and almost immediate reply.

“In the kitchen.”

Of course. _And you didn’t invite me_ , he smiles to himself.

Tony hops up and makes his way into the kitchen, where Happy is standing at the counter eating some sort of Philly Cheesesteak looking thing.

“Ya know, as pretty as they are, those stools you’re standing next to are functional.”

“Ha, ha.” Happy looked expectantly behind Tony. “Where’s Peter?”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “I thought he was with you.”

“I waited outside the school and he didn’t meet me at the car. I wasn’t really looking out for him, but I hadn’t gotten a text and he normally just meets me at the car.”

“Hm. He didn’t text me either.”

“I was parked in the same place I always park.”

“Maybe his phone died.”

“I’ll call May.”

“Have fun with that.” Happy rolled his eyes. “On a totally different topic, I’m going out to set up an Easter egg type hunt consisting of few wireless chargers in every room, bag, and locker that belongs to Pete.”

“Have fun with that,” Happy repeated Tony’s own words to him

It wasn’t 10 minutes before Tony’s phone was playing Peter’s personalized Star Wars ringtone. Tony picked up, but Peter seemed to be in mid sentence before he could say anything.

“-o sorry Mr. Stark, I was just soo tired I went right home to bed, I didn’t think to check my phone all day because it was so bright and I totally forgot. I’m about to leave now, I’m so sorry Mr. Stark! I’ll be there in like 10 minutes!”

“Sheesh, kid, don’t forget to breathe!” Tony had a few questions for Peter but was afraid if he asked them now then he wouldn’t get the chance to talk again for a while. Which of course he didn’t mind at all, when he didn’t have time-sensitive things to say.

“Don’t worry about swinging over, I’ll be outside your apartment in 10. Bring your suit so we can finish installing those designs we finished last week! And don’t bother coming up with any lies as to why you’re so tired because I’ll find out the truth anyways.” He heard Peter snicker over the phone.

“I swear it seems like you’ve installed a mind-reader chip in my head, sometimes.”

Now it was Tony’s turn to laugh, “maybe it’s a mind reader chip, maybe I’m a mind reader, or maybe somewhere in my life I’ve learned to recognize a pattern when I see one.”

“Hm. Definitely the first one.”

“Guilty as charged.”

“Ha, ha. Very funny.” Tony was getting all sorts of sarcastic laughs today.

“Do I need to schedule a nap time into your workshop days?”

“Yeah, if you think you need one, old man.”

Tony laughed. “I’ll see you in a few, kid. And don’t forget your pj’s.” He hung up before Peter could protest more. Or one-up him again in their banter.

Despite the last minute notice, Peter was outside ready for Tony. He hopped in the car, throwing his bag in the back seat and buckling up. “Wow, you were right about being tired. You look like sh- like, very tired. Did you sleep at all last night?”

Peter nodded his head earnestly. “Yeah, I did! I was in bed by 10. I thought I slept well, too!”

Tony raised an eyebrow.

Peter shrugged. “Okay, maybe it was closer to 10:45. But still! I don’t know why I’m tired.”

Tony frowned, but changed the subject while he mulled it over in his mind.

Peter caught Tony up on his day, his quiz that he passed (yes it was in Spanish, Tony never doubted himself at all), and his class projects.

“And how has the new diet been coming along?” They’d been working on calibrating just how many calories Peter would need throughout the day, taking into consideration training, sleep quality, and how exhausting his Spiderman endeavors were the night before. Peter shrugged. “It’s been fine. Honestly the only difference I’ve noticed is I don’t crave my snacks as much as I normally do, now that I’m actually thinking about it.”

Tony frowned. He’d thought diet was where this lack of energy would have stemmed from.

“That’s a good thing, right?”

Tony glanced over, “yes of course! Sorry, I was just trying to figure out why you might be so tired of your sleeping and eating enough. But good job staying consistent with that, kiddo.”

Peter smiled.

Maybe he just needed to catch up on some sleep. Because don’t all high schoolers? When school takes up 10 hours of your time, then gives you 8 hours of daily work, then teenagers spend a few hours with friends, and are expected to get 8-plus hours of sleep on top of that? Then some kids manage to fit actual jobs in there too... and That was a normal 40-hour-day high school schedule, not including Peter’s Spider-Man hobby which was (at least) a part time job’s worth in itself.

Tony looked back at the boy, who’d somehow managed to already fall asleep in what was probably one of the most uncomfortable vehicles on the planet, given that it was a flashy sports car and not one designed for long, comfortable, cozy road-trips of any sorts.

Meh, let him get this nap in while he can, Tony will see how he feels later.

Flash forward to later, and Tony turns to see if Peter’s software had finished installing, just to find the green “complete” holographic message flashing above Peter’s slumped over body.

Tony immediately felt a pang of guilt. He shouldn’t have pressured the kid into coming in today if he didn’t feel like it. He debated if he should wake Peter or leave him be, before decided to get him to a more comfortable place.

First thing he did was dim the lights.

“Heya, kid; wanna move to the couch?”

No answer.

“Hey, Pete.”

He rubbed Peter’s shoulder, a little more anxious now. “Peter, ya with me kid?” 

Peter’s head popped up, eyes still half closed, squinting at the lights. The dimmed lights.

What was that he’d said on the phone about his cell phone being, what was it, _too bright?_?

Hm. Maybe this was a spidey thing after all.

“What time is it?” The teen asked.

“It’s 3:30 pm. Nap time, apparently.”

“My head hurts.” Peter stood up groggily.

“I’ll get you some water and food, you’re probably low on both.” Peter reached for the chair for support, a bad idea as it was a rolley chair. The top swiveled, and Tony caught him under one of Peter’s arms. “Woah there,” Tony was starting to get really worried now.

“Ow.” Came the reply.

Tony frowned. “Where does it hurt?”

Peter’s eyes were still closed. With the hand opposite to the side Tony was holding, he reached in and pointed at his stomach area.

Tony frowned again, furrowing his brow. The dots just weren’t connecting, the information not lining up.

He got Peter over to the couch, and brushed his hair to the side to put his hand over his forehead. It felt hot, but didn’t it normally feel hot? How hot was too hot? Why did he think he would know what he was feeling for, he’s never done this before.

Peter opened one eye to squint up at him, raising an eyebrow questioning.

Tony removed his hand and swallowed nervously, completely unsure of himself. “You feel warm.” Hopefully he sounded surer than he felt.

Peter laughed. Or not.

“Okay, _doctor_ Stark.” But his laugh was cut short, as he immediately groaned and leaned forwards, clutching his stomach.

Tony reached his hands out, as if to stop him from falling off the couch. “My god, kid, are you sick?”

“No,” came the weak reply, “I can’t get sick. I’m fine.”

“Tell me you’re joking right now.”

“I’m not in the mood right now.”

“And that’s not a sign in itself that you’re sick?”

“I’m not sick, Mr. Stark.”

“And I’m not calling Dr. Banner,” Tony said, as he dialed Banner’s number.

* * *

“Well, he’s not sick,” Dr. Banner said. “Not as far as I can tell.”

Peter managed a smile in what he thought was the direction Mr. Stark was in. From the other side of the table, Tony frowned.

“But something is wrong.”

“Most certainly. But this is not from a virus or bacteria...”

Dr. Banner paused a beat.

A beat too long.

“What is it from then?”

“Well it appears to be from, uh, something else.”

“This isn’t funny, Bruce.”

“I’m not laughing, Tony. I just, I don’t know what it is, honestly.”

“So you found something?”

“I think so. I’ll have to draw more blood to see.”

A groan came from the med table, where Peter had one arm clutched to his stomach and one slumped over his face, shielding his eyes from the light. “Not cool,” came a muffled complaint.

Dr. Banner swallowed nervously, and he looked sheepishly between Tony and Peter.

“Spill it, doc.” Tony knew when Bruce had something to say.

Bruce shifted his stance. “I’m not sure this is the case, and I’ll have to run some more tests, but I actually suspect it might be some sort of poison.”

“Cool,” came the muffled voice from the table.

“No,” Tony’s voice was sharp as he pinched the bridge of his nose; “not cool. What’s it doing to him?”

“I don’t know yet, Tony, I’m sorry! I mean, he obviously has a temperature, and he’s tired because his body’s fighting it, but I haven’t had the chance to look into any other... more internal effects yet.”

More serious complications, he meant. “So everything looks good so far?”

“Sure. Nothing popped out at me from the scan. Tests, Tony, first tests. I can’t have results without tests. Now, has Peter thrown up at all?”

“No.” Tony said, beginning to feel overwhelmed.

“Actually,” came the muffled young voice, “maybe?”

Now Tony was definitely overwhelmed. “On a scale of ‘a little’ to ‘a lot,’ how much is ‘maybe?’”

Peter awkwardly shrugged from his position lying on the table. “Once this morning. Once when I got home. I thought I was just tired, or I ate some bad food.”

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier, you know, when we were trying to figure out what was wrong with you?”

Peter tried to sit up, probably to add his own sass and dignity into his next statements, but with a hmfph he fell back into his lying position. Weakly, he croaks, “because being tired and eating spoiled food aren’t related to each other.”

“They are if it’s poisoning!”

“Both of you, please,” Dr. Banner put his hands together in his polite way of asking, “Peter needs to rest, and Tony, honestly you probably should, too. Doctor’s orders, if that helps justify it in your mind.”

Tony rolled his eyes, ignoring the quiet ‘ _ha_ ’ that came from Peter in a that’s-what-you-get attitude.

“Okay, but text me with updates. The good, the bad, and the good.”

Silly of them to fall for it. Tony walked right into the next medbay room — literally wall-mates now with where Peter was, and hacked into his open file. Not that it was hacking, exactly, but still. Tony leaves the file open after programming it to alarm if any numbers out of the normal parameters pop up, and he lies down on the med bay’s patient table to take a nap.

When he first opens his eyes, he’s not sure exactly what it was that woke him. He sits still a moment, listening, only turning his head to look at the lab numbers on the screen that he’d left up. Nothing popped out at him so far, but maybe nothing would. He suddenly had the thought that if they didn’t know Peter’s normal levels, Banner might have turned off parameter alerts in the system, since he was right there testing, viewing, and reviewing everything as they came out.

Tony felt lost and helpless, all of a sudden, looking at all the medical abbreviations and numbers. Why couldn’t 0-100 be the scale for every level? Surely, it wouldn’t be that hard to convert numbers from one scale to another automatically, now that computers were capable of doing all the math anyways? Instead, he felt like he had been given a map without a key; he had all the info, but didn’t know what anything meant. Peter could be evidently dying on the bird right in front of him, and he wouldn’t know. Only his trust in Bruce was the reason he wasn’t panicking right now.

He hears someone coughing from the other side of the wall, and recognized it as the sound that had woken him up.

Peter, coughing like that? The only time he’d heard Peter cough was when the kid was fake coughing to get his attention or when he’d clumsily swallowed spit or something.

Peter doesn’t sick-cough. And this was a sick cough.

Tony got up and stomped into the room next door, taking a moment to adjust his eyes to the darkness within, and immediately freezing when he saw the scene in the room.

Peter was hunched over the side of the bed, holding a small bin he had apparently just vomited into; but the worst part was the dark splotches that Tony could see and in the dark, he knew they were red. Peter’s vomiting blood.

Peter looked up at Tony, a mix of ‘ _don’t be mad_ ’ and ‘ _help me_ ’ both somehow written on his face; Tony’s breath hitched as he stood a second longer than usual, deciding between which of the two options he would follow.

Taking a deep breath, he forced his shoulders to relax, and took the several strides that it took to sit next to Peter. He didn’t miss the gratefulness in the boy’s eyes before he turned to dry heave into the bucket once more. Tony rested his hand on Peter’s back, rubbing back and forth in an attempt to help sooth him, make this less worse.

Tony’s eyes frantically scanned the room, landing on Bruce who was loading stuff into his arms from the cabinets.

“Bruce,” Tony said, not yelling but causing Peter to flinch regardless. Without turning, Bruce held up a finger to Tony before grabbing several other supplies and turning around, walking briskly to the pair.

Bruce looks at Tony, who makes an exaggerated motion towards Peter and ending with a shrug; “what?” Tony whispers, but Peter still flinches.

Bruce holds up a finger to his lips.

Peter shivers, and Tony watches as he takes one hand, wipes it several times on his pant leg, and reaches back to grab the arm that Tony was rubbing his back with. He just, holds it. Tony waits, but Peter just holds it there, pressed against his back still, keeping Tony’s arm from either moving on or away from Peter’s back. Peter slowly lets go, and Tony doesn’t move his hand. Just keeps it rested there. Apparently that’s what Peter wants, because he goes back to the position he had been in, slumped over but not as tense as before. Bruce taps Tony’s shoulder. Tony doesn’t know what’s going on. What’s happening?

Apparently he said that out loud, because Peter’s flinched again and Bruce is whispering look at me, and I’ll tell you.

Tony looks.

“ _This just started about fifteen minutes ago_.”

How is Bruce whispering that quietly? Is that even possible? Or is it that he’s mouthing the words loudly?

Tony’s mind is distracting himself. _Not now_ , he tells himself. _Not here_. _Not yet._

“ _His senses are going haywire; so don’t talk_.”

Oh, what Tony would say if that weren’t the case.

He tried Bruce’s strategy instead, keeping his hand a steady source of support on Peter’s back. (Honestly, he didn’t know who it was helping more.)

“ _What’s going on?_ ” He asked.

Dr. Banner looked hesitant, then he looked like he was about to say something, but then his face shifted again and he glanced at the dimmed screen with the numbers and shrugged.

Tony’s hand on Peter’s back was Tony’s anchor point to sanity, at that point.

“ _What’s_. _Going_. _On_.” He asked as loudly as he could without making a sound.

“ _Can we talk outside the room for a moment?_ There’s too much to explain in here.” Bruce looked lost. Guilty, but overwhelmed. Probably similar to how Tony looked, come to think of it.

Tony glanced at Peter next to him. He’d stopped shivering and dry heaving, and had fallen asleep with his face pressed up against and into his elbow, leaning forward onto the bedside table. It would almost be adorable, had they not been in this scary situation, Peter’s skin looking pale against the bloodstains on his shirt and bedsheets. Or maybe he was that pale.

Tony nodded. And stood up.

Feeling his hand leave and Tony moved, Peter groaned and reached out a hand. Tony took it. Peter turned to face him; “d _o_ n’t g _o_ ,” he rasped. “Pl _ea_ s _e_.” Tony was torn. He turned towards Bruce and shrugged. Bruce just mirrored him.

“ _Helen is on her way_.” Bruce said, accepting that Tony was staying. Tony accepted this as permission to stay.

Tony nodded. It’s not like he could help right now, anyway. Bruce was here.

Bruce took something out of the pile of supplies he had gathered, and prepared what Tony saw was IV fluid.

Peter hated needles.

Tony sat back down next to Peter, wrapping his arm around the kid this time. Peter just leaned into him, eyes closed again, breathing slow.

Bruce walked around to the other side and picked Peter’s arm up like it was dead weight and placed it flat and outstretched on the table, setting up the IV start kit next to it.

Tony held his breath; Peter didn’t have the ability to watch, and although Tony knew Peter wouldn’t have, he felt obligated to.

Tony held Peter in place, but Peter didn’t flinch when Bruce inserted the IV.

Nor the second one.

In fact, Tony was holding so still that when Peter did move, it caught him off guard.

“Mister Stark?” His voice still sounded so quiet despite being the only sound in the room. Peter opened his eyes, but due to resting on Tony’s chest, he couldn’t actually see Tony.

“I’m here, kid.” Quiet enough so that Peter didn’t flinch.

“M’kay.” Peter closed his eyes again.

Tony needed an update on Peter’s condition. He hates being here in the midst of it all, yet still in the dark.

The door opened so suddenly that it caused Peter, Tony, and Bruce to jump.

Helen Cho walked in like a savior, flicking on the lights as she did so. She immediately started giving Bruce orders as her team waltzed in around her, but Tony was too focused on Peter to listen. Peter was curling in on himself and Tony, the fresh array of input driving his sense back up to, well, past their usually breaking point of 11 for sure.

Tony suddenly had an idea, and after a quick glance around the room, he helped Peter adjust his hands over his ears and his face in the pillow before running out, pretending like he didn’t hear Peter’s sobbing protests.

He ran into the living room and reached into the cabinet under the sink and grabbed a weirdly shaped item. Inspired by the Sensory **Deprivator 5000** in _How I Met Your Mother_ , the pair had made the contraption for when Peter came into the tower with sensory overload.

Tony ran back downstairs to find that the team had already laid Peter on his back and were treating him; Peter was still crying on the table, but even Tony agreed that alive and crying was better than... well, not being able to cry.

Tony first pushed his way through the miracle workers and put the ugly contraption on Peter’s head before stepping back and leaning back against the wall, sliding down until he was seated on the floor. Peter had calmed down already, and although he was still breathing pretty fast, Tony was finally able to let out the breath he’d been holding since, well, since he’d felt like Peter’s fate resting solely in his hands alone. Now he had a team behind him.

He watches Peter’s chest, up-down-up-down-up-down, until it was the only thing he could see. He realized his own respiratory rate was quite similar in pace, and he placed his head in his hands; this was no time for a panic attack. His mind zoomed off to the worst thoughts, darting from one bad possible outcome to another in just milliseconds.

A kind hand on his shoulder brought him back to his physical reality. He looked up to find Bruce had sat down next to him.

Tony shook his head in disbelief. He motioned to the organized chaos in front of him; he couldn’t see Peter currently, as someone was changing him into a hospital gown.

“Bruce?”

“Tony. You don’t need to whisper anymore.”

Tony didn’t realize he’d still been whispering.

“What is this? What’s happening?”

“Okay. So, from what I’ve gathered, Peter’s been poisoned. I don’t think it was from something he ate, due to the fact that he showed cardiovascular symptoms _before_ gastrointestinal ones. I had all his lab and diagnostic results pulled up so Helen was able to brief before she got here. We think he’s been poisoned by something specifically meant for him; whatever it is seems synthetic. Yes, we’re working on extracting it from his blood sample so we can find out exactly what it is. No, we haven’t found a cure for it yet. Yes, Peter is going into shock. No, he’s not currently dying.”

Tony didn’t respond. That was just bad news and then more bad news disguised as less bad news.

How did this happen? What’s going on?

“Why didn’t I catch on sooner?” Tony asked, really trying not to cry.

“Tony,” Tony hadn’t thought Bruce’s voice could get gentler, but it did. “He had every symptom of a normal, tired, teenage adolescent.”

“But Peter _isn’t_ normal, and it _wasn’t_ normal for him.”

Bruce shrugged. “You were going off the information you had. And when it got worse, you brought him here. And look,” Bruce paused, “he’s still alive.”

Tony wouldn’t necessarily call the unconscious child in front of him ‘alive,’ but he was still breathing.

Then, one of the technicians — the one who had put the gown on Peter— spoke up. “Sir?” It took Tony a beat to realize the man was talking to him. Tony switched places with him and moved forward to see what they wanted from him.

A nurse greeted him. “Mr. Stark, do you know anything about this?” She lifted the edge of the hospital gown to reveal a laceration just above Peter’s knee.

“No.” The gash was about 5 inches long, and although it didn’t look very deep, it was definitely infected. Where Peter’s super healing had tried to close the skin, there was yellow and orange. Where the blood had tried to scab over, there was green and purple. And where the infection had spread from, there were blue streaks like small rivers or tree roots. Tony instinctively brought a hand to his chest and clutched his reactor.

“No,” he repeated.

Dr. Cho approached from Tony’s left. She held up a small container. “I just removed these shards from his wound. There are likely more. We’ll get these specimens analyzed. Mr. Stark, may we use your equipment? I think yours is probab-“

“Yes of course, you know where it is.”

Dr. Cho nodded with a grim look on her face. “Thank you.”

A nurse passed them both, taking the sample, and left the room, taking standby team members who were waiting outside with her to the lab. Bruce followed as well, giving Tony an encouraging nod before exiting. Now that the room was quieter with just the essential members (and Tony), Tony had room to pull up a chair next to Peter without getting in the way.

“Hey, bud, I’m right here.”

Peter turned his head in the direction of Mr. Stark. “Promise?”

Tony frowned, but didn’t let it show in his tone. “Of course, kiddo.”

Peter nodded as best he could, wincing at the movement.

“Don’t move your head,” Tony said, “if you’re looking for me, just say something or reach this way. I’ll be right here.”

Tony could only see the lower half of Peter’s face, but he was still frowning like he was confused. “Where?”

Tony touched his arm. “Here.”

Peter nodded, wincing at the pain again. “Okay,” he whispered. “But I can’t move my arm.”

Tony looked down. The arm wasn’t strapped or anything, just lying there. Peter didn’t even sound scared.

Tony looked up at Dr. Cho, asking with his expression what was wrong.

Dr. Cho, standing on the other side of Peter, spoke quietly.

“It’s already started attaching his cardiovascular and peripheral nervous systems. I suppose his musculoskeletal system and central nervous systems are next.”

“Meaning...?”

Helen frowned for the first time yet. “Meaning that he won’t be able to move, and he might lose his perception and understanding of reality, to an extent.”

* * *

_**Please Stand By** _

* * *


	2. Bad, but Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hallucinating comes next. Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! My options were a rushed chapter or to make this work a 3 chapter fic. So here is chapter 2 out of 3!

* * *

Chapter 2

* * *

Tony watched the footage again, switching between the grainy film from a nearby store’s footage and Karen’s saved recording.

This was definitely the guy. Not only was he wearing a mask, but he was also wearing thick construction gloves, and the knife had been kept in a padded bag wrapped in plastic. The guy had been standing on the side while three of his companions had pulled a passerby into the alleyway; they were clearly the distraction, as they took their time and were extra careful not to hurt the elderly lady but rather scare her while they made poor efforts to take her purse.

Of course Spider-Man had shown up. By his actions, even Peter seemed to sense something was off about the situation, as he paused midway climbing down the wall to observe.

Eventually he made up his mind to act, but Tony thinks Peter had the wrong idea of what was wrong because Peter decided the guys weren’t the threat the woman’s screams made them out to be. As he easily worked his way around the three men, the forth man from the shadows came forward with the knife in one hand and pulled out a gun with the other, holding it up; Tony could see there wasn’t a magazine in it, but Peter wouldn’t have recognized that. While Peter stopped to web up the gun and pull it out of the man’s hand, the man lounged forward as if his hand was still attached to the gun. Peter clearly thought the man was just trying not to let go, but instead the man used the free lift to propel himself forward and throw the knife at Peter.

Peter noticed the knife in time to turn and lean out of the way. It honestly looked like the knife completely missed, but apparently it didn’t. It still scraped his knee, as Tony knew, though if it hurt Peter at all one couldn’t tell by watching how quickly he finished tying up the bad guys and borrowing the lady’s phone to call the police. She thanked him, the boy waved, and he was gone.

That had been last night, at about 10 pm. Peter had then slept and gone to school before that first symptom of fatigue had kicked in, followed not long after by his senses acting up.

Tony had even called Peter’s school friend, and he had said that Peter had spent most of the school day squinting and covering his ears or with his hood up to hide ear buds for noise cancellation. He revealed to Tony that neither Ned nor Peter had thought anything too abnormal about it though, because apparently an occasional sensory overload at school wasn’t anything new.

Well, it will definitely be deemed abnormal in the future, Tony would make sure of that.

Fast forward 4 or so hours after school, and fatigue and sensory overload had advanced to disruptions in nearly every system and organ in his body, leaving Peter pretty much unconscious in the medbay.

And here they are now.

Peter was as stable as they could get him for the time being, but despite what hopeful things Dr. Banner said about finding the antidote, Tony could see the desperation behind his eyes.

The boy stirred in bed, and Tony clicked off his personal screen. It looked like Peter was trying to sit up.

“Woahh, kid, where ya going?”

Peter kept his eyes closed, managing the strength to prop himself up on his elbows despite Tony’s protest. “School?”

Tony silently laughed. “It’s not time for school, Pete, it’s 8 pm.”

“I have a test.”

Not the stable mindset Tony was hoping for, but Dr. Cho did say he’d have trouble understanding reality.

“Not right now, you don’t. It’s dinnertime. It’s Friday night. There’s no school tomorrow.”

Peter didn’t say anything at first, just opened his eyes to survey the room. He looked at Mr. Stark and frowned.

“I have to go to school.”

“There is no school right now.” Tony gently tried to pull the blanket back up to Peter’s shoulders, but he pushed them away. “It’s not time yet.”

“Liar.”

Now Tony frowned, but he still spoke softly and gently; _be like Bruce,_ he told himself. “I am telling the truth, kiddo. You have to rest so you can get better.”

“No, you have to rest so you can get better.” If Peter had been joking, Tony would have laughed, but instead lines crossed his face with worry. He sighed. He had really been hoping Dr. Cho’s prediction about the delusions wouldn’t actually happen.

Tony put on a tired smile. “I’ll rest with you. You’re sick, Pete.” He managed to place the blanket over his shoulders and sort of tuck it in. “Lie down, buddy.”

Peter didn’t lie down; instead, he looked distrustfully at Tony with tears forming in his eyes. “I thought I could trust you,” he whispered.

What was going on in this boy’s head? “You can- you can always trust me, Peter.

Peter squinted his eyes. “You’re not real.”

Tony rested a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “I’m here, bud, and I’m telling the truth: I’m here for you. I’ll be here as much as I possibly can for you.”

Peter swatted Tony’s hand off and pushed his arm away. “No he isn’t.”

Tony paused. “No who isn’t?”

Peter breathed heavily, looking around the room, but didn’t answer.

“Whatcha thinkin’, bud?”

No answer. Just looking around the room as if trying to decide something.

“Pete?”

Nothing.

“I’ll call Bruce.”

* * *

“Tony! You want me to bring you something to eat?”

“No Bruce, it’s about — well actually, that would be great — but I’m calling about Peter.”

“Naturally. That’s why I offered to bring food.”

“Okay, Mr. Smart Guy.”

“That’s Dr. Smart Guy to you.”

“Someone’s in a good mood. But Peter woke up, and he’s not... he doesn’t think... or know-“

“He’s confused.”

“Yeah, except more than that.”

“Delirious?”

“I don’t know. Probably. Maybe.”

“I’ll be right up. Does he want something to eat?”

“Hey Pete, you want something to eat?”

Still nothing. Peter didn’t give any sign that he’d been spoken to. Tony would assess his ability to hear

“I don’t know. He won’t answer or even acknowledge me anymore.”

“Hm. Okay. I’ll be up in 10.”

Tony hung up. He watched Peter, who was starting to look a little freaked out. The IV made a buzzing noise, which meant it was just giving a few drops of its medicine, and Peter jumped; Tony rushed forward to help him from falling off the bed, but Peter caught himself.

Peter didn’t even acknowledge Tony and seemed to be talking to someone else, when he next spoke. It sent chills down Tony’s spine, this time.

“Don’t do that. Please.” Peter pleaded, but not to Tony?

Tony followed his gaze, which led to an empty corner of the room, but it was just that: empty.

His head whipped back to Peter, who was still looking at the corner. “How ya feeling, Pete?”

Peter frowned, but it didn’t seem to be in any correlation with what Tony had said. Instead, he looked like... like he looked when he knew something was wrong. Usually this is what he would look like before saying something like, _someone needs Spider-Man_ , then putting his mask back on before jumping off a balcony.

Tony looked back to the corner.

Quite empty.

Maybe Peter heard someone in the halls? But this was the soundproof room that Tony had designed especially — no, specifically for Peter so that he could rest without hearing every conversation and phone call in the building, much less the lobby that got loud when the team decided to hang out in there.

And he shouldn’t be able to hear anything from the other side of that wall, either.

Peter’s sudden movement caused Tony to startle this time, and he stood up as Peter scooted back in bed, as if trying to avoid someone’s reach.

“Peter!” Tony took a step forward, but he didn’t know if he should move toward the frightened kid, the empty space, or if either of those would make the situation worse.

The door actually opened then, causing them both to freeze as they were both doused with a ray of light.

Bruce stood in the doorway, a to-go bag in one hand and a half eaten chicken tender in another. He assessed the scene, munching, and then sighed as if he was clocking back into work from break time.

He set the bag of food on the bedside table, and walked back to switch on the dim lights. Tony squinted when they flickered on, and turned to look at Pete.

Pete actually saw Bruce— he was following him with his eyes. Tony frowned, almost feeling... was that jealousy? Well at least the kid was looking at something within the realm of reality again.

Bruce stopped in front of the bed, one hand in his pocket. “How are you feeling, Peter?”

“Good.”

Tony frowned at the kid. _What??_ But Bruce just smiled. “Good to hear.”

“You feeling hungry?”

Peter frowned in thought. “Kind of.”

“I’ve brought some chicken for you and Mr. Stark.” Peter didn’t move. “Would you want some after I assess you?”

Peter shrugged. Then winced in pain. “Sure.”

“Are you in any pain?”

“A little.” Peter’s voice got quiet. “But don’t tell Mr. Stark, please; he’ll freak out.”

No way Peter didn’t know he was there. Peter can hear heartbeats, of which Tony’s was a fraction of the noise level his breathing had risen to.

Bruce didn’t even glance back at Tony. “Okay, can you tell me your name and birthday?”

Peter then went on to answer a bunch of questions and perform a series of simple tasks. Hold your arms out for 10 seconds. Follow my pen with your eyes. Read these words.

Then he moved to a series of questions that struck Tony as familiar, but he couldn’t place where he knew them from. Or why he would know them.

Does your head feel full? Do you feel nauseas? Do you feel like there are bugs crawling on your skin?

Peter denied all, even making a disgusted face at the last one. But that’s the kind of question you don’t forget after a time, and Tony remembered where he’d heard these questions. These were the questions the medical people would ask him when he was going through alcohol withdrawals. The same ones, down to a T.

Then, Bruce asked, do you hear voices you know aren’t real?

Peter paused, and looked down into his fidgeting hands. He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“What do you hear?”

Peter shrugged. Winced.

“Alright,” Bruce had mastered the art of being a gentle yet efficient leader. “We’ll come back to that. Have you seen anything you know isn’t really there?”

Peter’s eyes flashed up to the corner. “Yeah.” Then he turned and looked right at Mr. Stark. Then he looked back down at his hands.

Tony’s breath caught in his throat.

“And what do you see?”

Peter shrugged.

“Do you see Tony there?”

Peter’s face looked sad. “Yeah.”

“Do you hear what he’s been saying to you?”

“Probably.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Peter shrugged; it was starting to take him a lot more effort to get enough oxygen. “It hurts.”

“Where does it hurt?”

Peter lifted his hand like he was going to point somewhere, but then made a general motion up and down his body. He fell back in the bed.

“Everywhere?”

Peter nodded.

Banner drew some pain meds according to his and Cho’s dosage calculations and hung it for the IV. Tony watched as Peter just stared at the ceiling.

Bruce sat down next to Tony. “He’s confused,” he said quietly. “It’ll probably come in and out. If he thinks you’re another hallucination, which it seems like he does, then he might not address you.”

“Why would I be a hallucination?”

Bruce shrugged. “It could be the dark. It could be the time. Look up “sundowning” if you want to know more on that. I’m not worried so much about it in itself, but rather what it means.”

“And what’s that?”

“That the poison is now affecting his central nervous system.”

“Like Cho said. So it’s the hallucinations and pseudo-hallucinations and stuff.”

“Yeah. That’s part of it.”

“Part of it?”

“Yeah. The other parts will be the ability to move voluntarily. And finally involuntarily.”

“How long could that take?”

They both had their eyes on Peter, whose eyes were closed. He wasn’t awake. Bruce looked at the telemetry reading of Peter’s heart. “His heart is doing good. He’s breathing. We have everything ready in the room if either of those things change.”

But the words “ _finally involuntarily_ ” were playing on loop in Tony’s mind. ‘Finally??’

Topic change. Now.

“So, um, how’s the cure coming along?”

Bruce seemed glad for the conversation’s progression but sighed nonetheless. Not a good sign. “Everything we’ve tried has either been ineffective, not effective enough, or too effective on our samples.”

“And?”

“And...” Bruce paused, Tony hoped he was distracted and not just thinking up something else to say. That can’t be it!

Bruce went on. “And we’re still applying and testing alternatives.”

“So it’s too soon to tell, yet.” Tony was asking. He can still hope, right? Right??

Bruce nodded. “Too soon to tell.”

They sat in silence for a minute. Bruce looked exhausted. Tony was sure his condition didn’t look any better.

Peter fell asleep again. How did he look so small and so weak? He’d been his lively self just hours ago. Well, mostly lively. Had he looked weaker then?

Bruce stood up. “I’m gonna go keep testing.”

Tony wished there was something he could say. He wished he could trade places for his friend and let him sleep. But he knew that even if he could, Bruce would just keep working alongside with him.

“Thank you,” he said instead.

With a grim smile, Bruce left.

Tony looked at Peter, who seemed to be in pain despite being asleep now and having new pain meds administered. Maybe they hadn’t kicked in yet.

Tony moved his chair closer and held Peter’s hand, hopefully to give him some comfort.

He rested his head down on the bed and waited.

He hates this game. He always felt like waiting was for the weak. If you wanted something, you had to go get it done yourself; but he couldn’t get this.

The clock ticked. Peter’s movements were less and less often. Tony would doze, and an occasional beep from the monitor would wake him up. Sleep apnea alert, the warning message would blink, several times before disappearing. At one point a respiratory nurse came in and put a big oxygen mask on Peter, connecting it to a machine. “This will help with his breathing,” she promised, but Tony didn’t have any other questions so she left.

He stopped looking at the clock after a couple hours. Every tick of the second hand pecked at his soul. The clock seemed to be moving backwards, now; counting down towards a destination rather than moving forward through time.

Tony dozed. He woke up at some point and felt how cold Peter’s arm was, so he wrapped him up in warm blankets and rubbed his arm for a bit before changing to the other side.

He started making to-do lists. Things he and Peter would do when Peter woke up. If they were closer, then Peter would tell him more things, right? Isn’t that what friends did? Or families? He tried to imagine what a functional father-son relationship would look like. Maybe if he just pictured that, then played the part, then the real stuff would happen naturally.

Apparently he fell asleep again at some point, because the slamming open of a door woke him up. He slid forward, almost all the way out of his seat, feeling a stab of pain in his chest at the fright of the sound as he turned angrily to Bruce who had just entered in this fashion.

He calmed down when he saw Bruce’s face. Tony looked down at Peter, realizing with (another) start that his nail beds were turning a light shade of blue.

“Blood transfusion. It’s a blood transfusion.”

“How?”

“The- the proteins- bonding and do you want to go over this now?”

“No. Are you sure it will work?”

“No.” But Bruce was already collecting the supplies. “But it should.”

“Do you have the blood?”

“Peter’s own won’t work because the poison is accustomed to it already, the poison’s too strong basically. Obviously. Out of all the availability, your could work. But the lab is out if your blood though, and the tests say your will work, if you’re—“

“Yes.” Tony was already removing his jacket.

Bruce dropped all the supplies at the bedside table. Dr. Cho walked in, followed by her team. “Dr. Banner,” she said, “we don’t know the long term effects of the transfusion.”

Bruce held out his hands. “Doctor, you know as well as I know that if there’s no major reaction in the first hour, he’ll probably be fine. This is the best lead we have. You saw the scans, the transfused blood was not affected by the poison and the neutrophils only attacked the foreign bodies.”

Dr. Cho paused. “We’ll need consent forms signed.”

Tony spoke up. “You have my verbal consent, FRIDAY keep that on file. Let’s get this started.”

“Okay. Sit here please.”

Bruce nodded from behind Dr. Cho, and Tony sat.

He felt like he was going to pass out, and it was only then that he realized neither he nor Peter had ever eaten the food that Bruce had brought him.

He focused on his breathing. He could not mess this up.

The IV went in, and the transfusion started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you thought about this chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know your thoughts! I wrote this for you!!


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